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= Romantic Novel =

A New England Love Story

by Jean-Thomas Cullen

13.

A feeling of desperation suddenly grew upon Rick Moyer. The day would be over before he could get away here—and he would fail to show up for his very first date with Miss Wonderful. He could not allow this to happen. But what to do?

As noon rolled by, Rick finished reading and signing the contracts in the pile before him. The city had grown slightly more rainy and gray outside, meanwhile. Thick charcoal clouds rolled across an otherwise light, mother-of-pearls sky.

It was a beautiful sight. Sunlight penetrated through the clouds in a few places, and painted an orange glow on glass and metal surfaces. Superimposed on that was a quadrille of fine white and yellow rectangles fine as sugar grains. Those were lights on in myriad office and hotel windows as millions of people went about their daily works and lives.

Rick glanced at a wall clock, checked his cell phone and pad clocks, and decided it was time for decisive action. He was not going to make the long, tiring drive to Emery in a rain storm. He wouldn’t make it in time.

Dad would choke like bloody murder when he reviewed Rick’s accounts, but this was it. Rick’d had it. He was going to fulfill the Marian mission today or die trying: Operation Marian the Librarian, ho!

He’d been up since early in the morning. He’d enjoyed a fine hotel room, as well as a chef’s breakfast, and frankly something just came over him—a kind of lethargy of the soul. He had worked his brain into a frazzle, working these documents. He’d scanned and faxed copies back and forth with legal teams in Manhattan, Boston, and home base in West Hartford. There were always endless little knicks and knacks to iron out, to change, to initial after printing, to go over and over in review. Most of the time, after working a case, he had the whole package couriered to the Moyer LX Building in West Hartford. This particular deal had been on a time element, and required signed approval today. He checked the time again. The last thing on earth he wanted was to miss his date with Marian. He had no idea if she was playing with him, or even lying—he’d seen everything in his time. A friend of his had dated a woman who said she was divorced, only to find out through back channels that she was an opportunist who was still actually married, but playing around behind her husband’s back, looking for a better deal, and prepared to dump him if a wealthier man came along. The friend had almost fallen for it, until his lawyers had insisted on a steel-jawed prenuptial agreement, and the gold digger had dropped him like a tired old shoe. Her strategy had been clear: to divorce him after a year or so, and get a huge settlement with alimony for her year’s play acting job. Rick Moyer had seen all the games. He felt something real, burning in his gut, for this woman. In a way, maybe she was too good to be true. But she seemed so real that it was worth playing along (cautiously) to see what might happen.

He pressed an intercom button in a gadget on the table. "Agatha, Rick Moyer."

"Yes, Mr. Moyer."

"I need you to put me through to my home office."

"Yes, Mr. Moyer."

In five minutes, Rick had Helen Dupuy on the line. Helen was a love. Helen was his father’s executive secretary, a woman in her sixties given to cream colored suits, big earrings, her fine lips struck with bright red lipstick, and thinning hair poufed into a slightly orange ball. Rick had played at Helen’s feet in his father’s office, when Rick was maybe two, Helen was probably thirty, Mom about 35, and Dad was maybe forty. "Yes, Rick?"

"Helen, I am running out of time here and need some quick assistance. Can you take some notes please?’

"Yes, Rick. Of course."

"Don’t ask, don’t tell."

"What?"

"Please."

Hearing the mix of command and pleading in his tone, she said: "Whatever you say, dear." There was also a tone in her voice that suggested she didn’t want to know for fear of getting sucked into something.

"First of all, let’s get this package couriered over to the right persons, with a copy to our office."

"Okay." Helen was an old hand at taking all sorts of wild requests, understanding them, and making things happen.

"I am going to need the following. I need a courier to stop by the Ace Ali Baba Parking Garage in Manhattan. The street address is on the credit slip."

"I have it here. It arrived by email."

"I need the courier to open the trunk of my car, and remove a book. I’ll give you the title. I need the book hand-carried by whatever means necessary to the Emery Public Library."

"The what, dear?" She pronounced what like h’chwat.

"Emery Township Free Public Library in Emery, Connecticut."

"Oh yes, been through there."

"Me too."

"Lovely little town. Absolutely nothing going on there."

"Nothing at all," Rick said, "until today. Use a chopper service. I think that would d be best."

"A what, Ricky?"

Rick gave her the address.

"Got it." Helen never lost a beat. It was just another business deal.

"I also need a chopper on the roof here ASAP to take me to the same location in Emery. Most likely there is not a landing pad near the library, so we’ll make it the nearest commercial strip or pad as close as possible."

For the first time, Helen appeared a bit confused. "Wait a minute. I am not following you exactly. You want two helicopters?"

"Right. We don’t have a lot of time to work with. I am meeting a client at five p.m. at the Emery Public Library. This is a major deal for me."

"Gotcha. No problem. Daddy won’t blink?"

"Don’t ask, don’t tell."

"I am going home early right after I set this up. I don’t want to be here."

"He no longer reviews all my logistics and deal sweeteners. Either that, or I quit and start my own firm."

"He doesn’t need to know yet. I’ll make sure. He will know soon enough."

"Excellent. We’ll cross that bridge when it comes our way. I will be on the roof waiting for my chopper."

"I’m sorry, love, but why don’t you have one chopper fly the book to you, pick you up, and take you to the library then?"

"It’s two operational legs, Helen. No time to lose. Leg A-B takes us from the garage to the roof on this building. Let B-C takes me from here to Emery, which is going to be about a forty minute flight going at cruising speed. If we go A-B-C, I’m afraid I my miss my deadline. If we run the two legs in parallel, it means they can run independently and we might shave a half hour or so off."

"Must be a very important client. Or a special woman. Or both. Well, okay, dear. Anything you say. I’m on your side. I’ll get right on it."

"Thanks. I’ll need a rental car waiting for me at the destination. And separately, hire a service to drive my car back from Manhattan to West Hartford."

"I’ll take care of all the details," Helen said. "That’s your expense budget for about six months."

"I don’t give a rat’s whisker."

"I completely agree."

"Please, Helen, keep me on this line and use the other lines to set it all up. I need to know from moment to moment."

"Gotcha, Ricky. Here we go…"

Rick waited while Helen made phone calls on several other phone lines simultaneously.

"I have a landing place configured for you."

"What is it?" He had his phone pad in hand and checked her arrangements as she posted them on his mobile calendar for him.

"Emery Field. It’s a private air club where they give lessons and store small planes for members. They have a public pad that is leased by the city and county for emergency services like fire and EMT. Shall I book you?"

"Book away, please." He sipped tea, waving the cup in one hand, while waving the mobile before his face, speaker mode, and swallowing distractedly.

The redoubtable Helen continued: "I can have your book flown there separately to meet you."

"That’s perfect."

"And they will have a rental car ready when you land."

"Excellent. Thank you, Helen."

"Anything else, dear?"

"Tell dad I said hello, and New York City went very well today as it usually does."

"I will. You fly safely now."

"I always do my best."

After ringing off, Rick wrote a note for Agatha to take care of the contract package with Helen. He gathered his coat and his briefcase. He stuffed his cell and his pad into various pockets. Juggling a paper tea cup, and holding a scone in his teeth, he made his way up to the helipad on the 90th floor of the building. There, he waited behind a plate glass window while sleet and hail silently hammered the glass on the other side. After some minutes, a helicopter with twirling orange running lights flew sideways onto the apron. Pushing the rooftop door open, Rick entered a maelstrom of churning wind and water. Pilot and co-pilot, in orange jumpsuits and helmets with microphones, pulled him up in to the dry, upholstery-smelling passenger compartment of the chopper, and off they went, sailing into the elements half a mile above Manhattan.

In the courtesy refrigerator of the small but efficient luxury aircraft, Rick found a variety of foods and drinks. He chose a fresh banana and a bowl of granola with whole milk to tide him over, along with a seven ounce container of fresh grape juice. He wanted to save some appetite for his date with Marian, but he’d had a busy morning and needed a little pickup on the way. If it were a few hundred miles more, he would have hired a jet, but it wasn’t clear where you landed a Lear jet in Emery. A person had to make do with materials available in a pinch--the right tools for the job. Within the paneled, sound-tight walls and doors of the small but luxurious compartment, Rick put back his plush easy chair recliner. There were two such seats in here, along with a complete entertainment center with video screens, plus the wet bar, small fridge, and microwave/convection oven. After eating, he disposed of the containers in a small compactor and lay back. Pulling up his raincoat like a blanket, he closed his eyes and got a brief nap. Except for an occasional small air pocket, or a buffeting air gust, Rick was blissfully unaware of flying a mile high in the sky. Eventually, the pilot announced he was descending for a landing approach at a small private airfield on the outskirts of Emery.